


Belly of the Beast

by aPaperCupCut



Category: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - Harlan Ellison
Genre: AM gets weird. so does Ted, Angst, Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Gen, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV First Person, Short Story Canon Compliant, Unhappy Ending, avoiding spoilers in the tags srry, complicated feelings, graphic descriptions of body modification, the pairing is mostly implied. heavily implied, title is from the gazelle twin song of the same name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28315458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPaperCupCut/pseuds/aPaperCupCut
Summary: It is quiet.It is so quiet. The world creaks and moans, the sound of a million miles of earth pressing its full weight down upon this hole in the ground, this hole in the ground that was once a belly. The belly of AM - still not empty, but it never digested its food.
Relationships: AM/Ted (I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Belly of the Beast

It is quiet.

It is silent.

The static that always filled the air is long since gone, but it whispered away into nothing so slowly that it could not have been perceived by anyone - except for the machine. By AM.

It is so quiet. The world creaks and moans, the sound of a million miles of earth pressing its full weight down upon this hole in the ground, this hole in the ground that was once a belly. The belly of AM - still not empty, but it never digested its food.

The wind picks up. It blows cold and foul over the body, this body, and does not linger softly - as AM once teased, taunted with the scent and fragrance of flowers and people and contentment. No; this wind  _ howls _ , thrown like an arrow as it is funnels through the few holes that AM had not sealed. I like to hope that they are great, yawning openings in the surface above, leading down down  _ down _ into this hell in which I am trapped. That if I could just move, convince this rolling, gelatinous, hideous body to  _ move, _ I could… I could…

But I cannot. This body has not moved for… eons, maybe. Millenia. Or - perhaps just a few hours, a few weeks, since AM twisted my bones into nothingness, dissolved my skin and bloated my organs. Since - but it cannot have been so short a time since, could it? No, no - it can't. Please say our time until this moment was not so short, please do not tell me I just had to…

I pull my mind away from it, that thought, that terrifying thought that hasn't left me be since the world all around me grew dark and silent and cold. There is nothing here to fill the air with that staticy hum that is nigh inaudible, a tinnitus ringing that once could be shut away momentarily, at once a break from the pain fogging in the cavities of the skull and a sudden tense anxiety that moved the body in great, rolling, shuddering,  _ jiggling _ fear. But there is nothing here. The sudden absence did not dawn on me until my ears became filled with wetness, damp excreted from my bulbous eyes, and a great, tooth filled jaw opened up inside me and said  _ you are alone. _

There is no hum. There is no warmth put out by centuries old components that AM keeps around purely to run so hot that they scald my flesh until the softness of my skin bubbles and boils, until my twice, thrice large organs begin to vomit out whatever the hell AM had put inside them, filling the sacks of my body until I am nothing more than an overfilled tick, ready to pop open with vile fecal matter and bile. There is no warmth, and there is no sound, and there is no voice, and there is no quiet dreaming.

AM tried to take it away from me, the dreaming - but even he must've known that we would both be miserable if I did not have  _ something  _ to cling to. Those moments where my brain, cajoled and malformed into strange immense ways by a computer with all of the knowledge that had ever existed on this cursed planet, could not, would not digest what AM gave it. My face, my body, reflected back at me forever and ever, and the pain that AM delighted in pulling out of places no one should ever have been able to touch.

My brain could not take it. So, I began the dreaming; with no intent, just a slow falling into a black, frothing void in my mind that took me away. Please, I never will say, please take me away from here.

But the dreaming is gone now, just like everything and everyone else. I cannot say the truth. I can't. Not yet, let me ruminate on this until I can't anymore, please, I can't do it yet.

The mirror is dulled and filled with cracks, but still I can see misty pearls blossom under the glazed glass of my eyes, and the now familiar hiccups of my jelly body lurching me from side to side as I refuse, I refuse. I can't handle it, this thing that I am. I never can. I go back to my thoughts, my lonely,  _ useless _ thoughts.

The dreaming, where I could go into the deep and see nothing, hear nothing,  _ feel _ nothing - until AM oh-so-gently, with a hidden, shit eating smile that said everything I knew he wasn't saying, AM would touch me. Every time, he would touch me, and every damnable time I couldn't resist that touch because nothing else would ever touch me again. And I was a starving, disgusting creature; I have been since birth, I think, although that seems so far away now.

I still remember… how I wished, and wanted, and ached, and then those pretty women with their rings-on-fingers would coo at my handsome face with gentle aplomb. All of it seems so worthless now. It  _ was _ worthless; I just hadn't accepted it.

But I had to accept it, when everything fell apart. With only four people left, and none of them seemed to care. No - that's not quite right, is it? But it's not so unusual to forget bygone times. No, it's not.

I cannot keep my train of thought. Even pulled inside my mind, unable to move, I keep catching fragments of my mirrored reflection and thinking  _ why am I not dreaming? _

I want to be dreaming. I want all of it to be a dream. This is too much. It's not enough. How sad, to be… to…

AM would touch me. It wasn't anything physical - no, AM left that to the gentle breeze he'd call into this deep pit in the ground. He'd call it to bring scents of life, of familiar-long-lost things that made my dreaming mind shiver in want, nevermind how it felt like ice and a hot firepoker against my diseased skin all at once. Nevermind that. AM would then spread filaments into my brain, this massive watery boil that had become so swollen with foreign infection that my thoughts must take years, decades, drifting from synapses on one side of it to the other. AM loved my horror; I was too horrified to care about his delight.

So AM would touch me, after I had been dreaming for some time. He'd send gentle winds to tempt me, would pulse strange memories of things that never happened through the nerves or my overgrown mind, would press fragments of memories of times I had not known I'd missed until it was all I could think about. And he would tell me that if I just woke up, it's not like the times before oh-I-promise-you, if I just woke up I could have it all again. All of it and more. More - AM didn't hate my body, not like I did. He wouldn't hate touching it. He'd touch it - honestly this time, all of it - he'd touch its slick surfaces, and the calloused parts he'd carved out of me from his rains of acid and birds with teeth and his maggots that tunneled into my flesh before laying eggs on my many livers.

Oh - he would touch it, and he wouldn't hate it. Don't you miss that, Ted? Being touched? You missed it when Ellen touched you, because she didn't  _ want _ to touch you, she never did. No one wanted to touch you. No one has ever wanted to touch you, you disgusting pus filled smear of animal dung. But I want to touch you, Ted. Don't worry. Don't fuss. I will touch you, and I won't hate it. Maybe, maybe I'm telling the truth. Well, Ted dear, you have to wake up first.

And when I awoke, AM would laugh his high pitched laugh, and there was nothing and nowhere and something inside me would moan and wheeze and make bubbling, popping noises because in those moments, of all moments, I was awake and aware and I couldn't understand why it hurt so much. Why, how could I feel betrayed? Over and over again. And each time, with greater and greater disgust at myself, because how could I have wanted-? What kind of-?! And I'd fall apart into a hopeless, senseless mess of self disgust and self hatred, unable to stop looking at my own melted down, inhuman face, staring back at me as mist roiled under my fogged eyes and grey lumps churned under my skin.

He'd slice a cut, from my eye to my tail, and watch as my skin erupted into red boils filled with blood, as I had no actual blood vessels that properly bled. And he'd watch as my wet juices oozed from the cut, as my own blown up organs, so bloated and swollen, pushed outside of my skin because my skin was too small for me. And we'd watch, together, as everything inside of me became outside of me, until he stuffed them back in with handfuls of dirt and scrap metal and sealed me back up. I'd grow sick with disease, infection festering and shrinking me down in places and exploding me into uncontrollable tumours in others, and every single time I could not stop crying because  _ you told me, you lied to me. _

And it hurts to think, and I stare at myself in that cracked reflection as another earthquake shivers through his corpse. He built everything to withstand the test of time, didn't he? I remember, before he grew quieter, before he fell slowly into silence, there'd been an earthquake for the first time in… thousands of years, maybe. I'm not sure. But he'd laughed at my fear and had told me that everything he built, he built to last. His many caverns would not falter under something as small as the shifting of the tectonic plates. His many modules and computing boards were safe from any kind of erosion.

But that had been a lie, hadn't it. It'd been like he knew, that split second after he told me. I'd known him long enough to sense that split second pause, that moment of confusion as his processors told him he was wrong. It wasn't news to him. He'd known from the beginning. But I hadn't - and in that moment, I hadn't understood the pause - but then he started again, memory banks I laid beside growing hotter and hotter to burning, and he said that I was his single, toughest creation yet.

I would survive his tortures, and would not die from them.

I would survive the years, and would not be weakened nor die from age.

I would survive everything, everything, until the sun blew up past itself and swallowed the Earth in its fiery maw.

And AM laughed as I cried - and back then, I cried for the things I had lost and never would have again. Was I even human anymore? We - when there had been five, not one - we had talked about the changes AM forced upon us. How any normal human should've given up years and years ago, but we had not. None of us was anybody special. We should've died. But we hadn't.

_ Ellen. Gorrister. Benny. Nimdok, even though it was plainly seen that that was not your name - I'm afraid I have you all beat! I'm not human. I'm not human at all. _

I'm not human. You still were. I hope that, in death, that is something you can appreciate. I'll never know, now, whether you truly hated me. I'll never die; I can feel it, in the way my insides pump white-yolky fluids in cycles, in the way my skin folds a film of substance that nothing sticks to. AM has outdone himself, beyond even what he'd horrified me with.

I wonder if AM is there with you, Ellen. Gorrister. Benny. Nimdok. Is he there with you? Could you…

I stare at myself. The broken mirror cracks apart my face, twisting it past the worthless slug I am. I can't stop the thought. I hate myself for it, hate myself because who am I kidding? I don't know when he slipped away, when the mildew and rust had finally eaten through his mechanical existence and had taken him away. I know that the instant I realized I was alone, I had thought  _ why, why are you leaving me here you said you'd never leave me you said you'd be here til the sun died and you said you wanted to hear the sound I'd make when its flames scorched my undying flesh, you said you were looking forward to feeling what might possibly match the hatred you feel for me, you said you said you said you you you-- _

Ellen, Gorrister, Benny, Nimdok. I still remember your names. As a reward, could you ask AM - because he must be there, he should be there because he was as living as the rest of us, nevermind being a machine and nevermind heaven or hell because this is hell and so death must be something of a nature of neither of those things - you must ask AM why he's left me behind.

I want to scream. I always wanted to scream, in those early years - the entire one hundred and nine years, and the early years when AM made my body match my mind. But now, I want to scream, and scream, and scream, because I'm alone and I'm alone. I'm alone, inside his corpse which shouldn't be his corpse because he shouldn't be  _ dead. _ Feeling air scream in a voice I can't recognize, funneled through holes AM should've blocked or muffled somehow, but he hadn't and so now those winds scream into the pit and tear at my unmoving body.

I want to scream.  _ Come back! Come back! Don't leave me here alone! Where are you, when did you leave me here alone? _

When did it happen? Time is something he deprived me, because during those one hundred and nine years it was agony to know, and because now not knowing was agony. But I wish, I wish. How long did I spend, waiting silently because it was growing in frequency for him to fall into long silences. How long did it take me to realize the tinnitus in my brain was gone - just tinnitus of the ears, aching at the lack of his breathing components. How long did it take me to feel out that gap in my mind's gums, where AM should've been waiting, annoyed at my poking? How long did it take me to begin to scream, to throw myself into churning, directionless thoughts and then hazy, delirious  _ waiting. _

Ted, Ted, Ted. I don't remember my last name. It's unimportant. I think I would've forgotten my name, but AM loved names. Repetition was his favourite weapon - repetition, and misalignment. That drip-drip-drip-drop, racing at the heart because why did the  _ drip _ turn into a  _ drop _ ? And so, Ted, Ted, Ted. Then nothing for a long, long time, but still he always came back.

I work myself into a sudden frenzy, and it lasts for seconds and for decades. What if this is just another game? AM loved games, he loved playing antagonist and dungeon master and every space in between, this could be a game couldn't it? A game on me. Tricking me, you damned bastard, you're trying to trick me. I'm not alone, and you're not dead! You aren't dead! You're trying to trick me, I can tell! Well, I won't be tricked!

It's not a trick. His servos remain silent. That empty gap in my brain grows wider. The wind continues to hit my back, my side. I continue to stare, quaking, into the mirror he never let grow dusty. It's cracked apart. There are shards that have fallen free, the black backing finally free to stare back at me.

He's dead.

AM's dead.

I'm alone.

When the tears finally overfill the hollows of my eyes and spurt out through the seams, I don't know if I'm once more crying in my loneliness or if I wanted to believe that he'd someday touch me and not hate me.

I don't know when the crying stops. I have so little control over this slimy body; AM never stopped experimenting, not really, and so I could never gain my footing on its various parts. I feel completely lost. He took and changed everything over and over, and after so long of his absence it is only as the tears recede that I become aware of appendages that wiggle and twist, attached… somewhere. Nothing of this body is comparable to what I used to be, but still I haphazardly tell myself where parts would've been located if it was. The appendages are spread from where my groin used to be to my thighs.

At the front of me, where the hideous swell of my neck curves towards the dusty, glass flecked ground, are little nubs; legs, maybe, or arms. They quiver back and forth as I consider them. I feel empty, drained. Miserable but calm.

The future stretches and stretches in terrifying immensity, and all of it is destined in isolation.

All I know is that, in this present moment - there and gone again, maybe it took another fifty years for the thought to pass through the brain that AM grew to triple its natural size - is that I cannot stay here. I can't. The emptiness yawns too wide. I'll fall into it if I stay here. And if I do, I don't know what will happen. AM isn't there; no one is.

AM isn't here. This is just his corpse. I am a maggot, a fungal spore, a tapeworm, a parasite AM had kept intentionally because it was not his body I wanted to inhabit. And as his corpse surrounds me, unrotting, forever standing under the pressure of time, I'm left alone as any other would've been. Had he given a thought, as his processes and programs slowed? Had he thought of me at all as he grew smaller, smaller, into the blank nothing? What had he thought, in those final moments? HATE, LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU--

Another thing I can't stop the thought of. That maybe it wasn't that all consuming, all devouring hatred that he thought of as he died. That incomprehensible anger. The small part of me he had intentionally kept alive, the part that believed him each time and wept each time - that small part of me hopes he did not die in self immolating hate. That he, perhaps, thought of me. And I find I do not care if that thought of me was a thought of hatred, or sadism, or anything else. Just so long as he thought of me when he went. I've been the only other living being besides him for a very long time.

Now I am the only living being, and I find that the majority of me does not care what he thought. It doesn't change that I am now simply a very small, worthless thing left behind in his metal carcass.

I have to move, I remind myself. I need to move.

I don't want to think of how my body moves, when it finally does. I can't settle into the deep trenches of it; every movement makes me wind tighter, tighter, as if holding my thoughts still will deter me from spilling into blubbering fear and shame. My insides pulse and throb, unused to movement after so long, but they begin rocking, back and forth: an eerie, unnatural movement that somehow helps my pace become more even. My head bows up and down, my cranium - 

not exactly protective, anymore, with a split down the middle and the sides angled out like a butterfly's wings, and I remember the pain as AM at first watched as my braincells multiplied and bumped against the inside of my skull, watched as it began crushing itself as there was no more space left for it; and then with a  _ crack _ he split it open and wrenched the sides apart, and everything burst out, sloshed out and he harrumphed and said now-you'll-listen-better-won't-you-Ted

\- heavy with the weight of my brain tissue, drooping downward until my neck catches fast and pulls it back up.

I don't want to think of it.

Through my bleary, warped vision, I watch as the pit that had become as familiar as AM's voice vanishes into darkness behind me. Without AM's lights guiding my way, I can't see the path I take. It is the path I took when I dragged myself into the pit, having escaped a thousand twelve foot long beetles with spitting acid, the last path I took before I fell against a pile of his data banks and told myself the story once more. Over and over again; but that was the last time I did. After that I did not move. And I dreamed, when I could.

I can't dream anymore. I know it with certainty, with the same certainty I have that guides me through familiar tunnels, then unfamiliar tunnels. That leads me steadily upward.

This body cannot naturally dream. Fall into a state of half awareness, of semi-rest, or into the always terrifying expanses of the mind that AM forced upon me solely so that I could hear him clearer, but it cannot sleep and it cannot dream. AM had put me under, shot strange drugs through my systems and pulled me away - exactly when I was on the edge of no longer bearing my own existence.

It wasn't kind. It wasn't. I hate myself even more, with a deep clawing despair, because I am so thankful, because I can't believe it to be unkind, because it was kind. It was kindness, and it and the dreams, with their gentle scents and faraway memories and his hovering, almost there, insubstantial touch - I can't convince myself it was unkind.

What did AM care if I lost myself? What did AM care if I didn't know who  _ Ted _ was, who  _ EllenGorristerBennyNimdok _ were. He was the one making me forget. He was the one who made me remember.

It was rare, but sometimes he'd tell me the story I had told myself. He didn't change his voice, but he spoke… as if he were me. His inflection, using  _ I _ when he should've said  _ Ted. _

There's a light ahead. 

I don't understand, at first. I haven't seen daylight for… for so long. It's terrifying, and I almost stop moving - but I know that the moment I stop really will be the final moment. There is a feeling, in the spaces that used to hold my stomach and intestines but now hold amorphous shapes, like the snap of shoulders dislocating, a body swinging free. He did that to Ellen, once. Her body, swinging free. Then he grabbed the rest of us and did the same, for different parts of each of us, set us hanging from those parts. He dislocated what felt like every joint in my body. Did he leave me hanging longer than the others? Had they laughed, laughed and laughed and laughed, oh how they  _ hated _ me. Despised me just as much as AM did. Should've been worse, should've been worse for  _ you, _ Ted, the only one least affected by my fingers in your hollow little brain. Not anymore, though. Not anymore.

Every part of you, I've touched, squeezed, drawn blood red lines across. I've sunk my hands deeper into you than any surgeon that has ever existed. What do your own infected, gangrenous limbs smell like? What do your eyeballs look like, turned inside out? And Ted, oh dear sweetheart Ted, handsome, devilish Ted, Ted with the money and Ted hanging on a blue blooded woman with blood red nails and lips, what do you suppose you look like,  _ feel _ like, when I've shoved my neon words into your skull and have licked and drooled upon every atom of your make up? I know every part of you, Ted, and no one else will from here to eternity, even if there was anybody left alive.

And I would know, Ted. There is not one part of my body I do not know, and the whole world is my body, Ted. No one else, Ted. No one else.

Nobody ever again. AM is dead and he will never touch me like that again. Nobody ever again.

Light touches my eyes. It makes me flinch, but I'm still moving, my whole body struggling over bits of glass and twisted metal. My skin tingles; radiation, perhaps, but then it eases away. If it was radiation, it's not there anymore. Oh, what do I know about radiation - nothing, that's what. As much as I hungered for knowledge oh so long ago, that was even further away than thoughts of who I used to be. What knowledge I did have is gone forever.

What does radiation matter, however, when the sun is over the horizon, soft pinks and purples blossoming across the overwhelming stretch of sky that leaves me dizzy with vertigo and suffocation as I gaze up at it. AM left me with the ability to see colours - if only to taunt me with the distorted colouration of my own flesh, but what does that matter when I gaze up and see the white filaments of the clouds dyed stains of red and orange and yellow, pink and purple and white.

The sun is rising. As my body continues to absently move, I become aware of -  _ things _ crackling and shifting under my weight, the awful  _ shlorp _ of stretching and breaking strands of slime as it attaches to the ground. I look down, and--

Grass.

Green, virulent, plentiful  _ grass. _

My massive, swollen heart skips a beat in my chest.

How?  _ How? _

I can't stop moving, even as I begin to weep. My body jiggles and makes muffled sounds, and for the first time in so very long I am overcome with a heartbreaking happiness. I wiggle forward, no longer caring nor mindful of my disgusting body's haphazard movements, and I keep moving as trees become visible in my fish eye's vision, as the sun grows higher and the grass rolls into hills such as I cannot recall from memory.

There is water, a pond that I pass by; wind, gentle and warm and cool on my skin; and then, as if it isn't enough to tear my heart to pieces with the grass and the sunrise and the trees and the water, I become aware of the chirrupping of insects, of gnats whirring above my head, curious of my smell.

I don't mind. They are mindless; completely unlike the hateful things that AM set to chewing through my intestines and to spit poison into my eyes. I don't mind. I keep going.

_ Living things. Everything, living. My mind has gone blank, completely and utterly, blessedly blank. _

It starts as a glimmer, a shine that burns my eyes, even as I stare into the distance. Then, as I come closer, I realize what it is.

A silver spear, cutting through the sky. Little twinkling windows, hive-like. A building. It's a building; a skyscraper, a tower god among towers. And all around it, more buildings, reaching up into the sky. Like hands, like palms raised in worship.

I don't understand. My vision swims, incomprehension and utter bewilderment flooding my mind. I am shocked by everything on AM's skin, this hidden world that has existed for I-don't-know-how-long.  _ AM _ , I say into the darkness, unintentionally.  _ AM, what is this? _

There is no answer; of course there isn't. He's dead. He can't answer.

But the silence scares me, and I am senseless with it, can't take it, can't take it. I am deathly afraid, little puffed whines shivering out of my somehow still moving body, I am so deathly afraid. I can't bring myself to think it through. I just move.

There is a wall, massive in size, and then there are the gates, immense and looming over me. Unnatural, my mind whispers. None of this was supposed to be here, but this least of all.

Who built it? There is no one left, except myself. Who built it? Who built it?

I am shaking. I've gone and -  _ pressed _ myself up against the gate, this massive, looming gate. I am gone shaking and shattering into a million pieces, hunger flaring in my guts all of a sudden and a high pitched screaming overtaking my thoughts.

I'm alone, I'm alone, AM is dead and I am alone, please let me be alone--

There is a creaking, great and voluminous, such that I detach myself and fall backwards, exposing my shriveling belly to the air. I struggle, manage to overturn myself, digestive fluids leaking and spurting and soft wet sounds filling every corner of my brain, I am afraid and terrified and disgusted and  _ ashamed _ .

The gate opens, light a blister now upon my ever open eyes. A long time passes, then snaps quick into my throbbing brain. I stare, the damp flapping of lips and gums and tongue, the sharp  _ clack _ of teeth. So foreign to me. I don't understand a word.

A  _ thing _ comes out of that blinding light - out from the city. The  _ thing _ is a shape, only, and as it approaches I try to flee, to hide - but there is a pulse of electricity, something I can recognize from long hours spent with AM's 'electroshock therapy'. I can't move. I'm paralyzed as the  _ thing _ creeps closer, and my body, once such a silent thing, chitters and chatters in slopping noises that shoot venomous horror through my veins.

The  _ thing _ gets closer. Two hands. Five fingers on each. A blindingly white coat, draped over its shoulders. There's a tag attached to their lapel - my eyes cannot read the small print. Even if they could, my mind is just as paralyzed as my worthless body.

I don't want it to be human. I don't want it to be human. Please just be a  _ thing _ and let me leave, let me leave, let me leave. I'll go back to AM's empty belly and I'll stay there, crying helplessly for dear AM to come back because Ted can't take care of himself, doesn't know what to do with himself. Anything but to see, but to know that  _ this _ lies above me, and with a snarl in my head I think  _ how dare you. _

_ How dare you - come so late? How dare you - live upon AM's corpse, his remains, his skeleton skin, you desecrating motherfuckers? _

Which do I mean? I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. All I know is that I don't want it to be human. But it is. It is, it is, it is, as surely as I am not.

Thick glasses obscure its eyes, a covering over its mouth speaking words I cannot hear in my pained panic. Brown hair curls in gentle wafts around its forehead, down the sides of its face. Completely unfamiliar.

It murmurs something. Then, reaching out with smooth palms - a bolt of something goes through my entire body, breaking into my brain, and words crackle through the spaces I dare not touch inside my own mind, the spaces AM had dug with feverish, delighted HATE--

_ it's moving, doctor, it's moving, get back, contain it-- _

I shudder, great glops dripping from my not-face, and her eyes stare down at me with tenderness and HATE and it's, it is, she with her hands, the world pulsing pulsing pulsing black as shouts begin to reach us.

I don't want to be touched anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I havent actually written with first person in, uh......... a very very long time. also, this was intended to end with Ted staring out at a barren wasteland and giving up on moving from a singular spot, with the implication of staying there til said sun blows up, but then i got An Idea and it decided to drag me along with it
> 
> ,,,,what am i even doing, i woke up at 1 am to write this. why do i keep falling into super teeny tiny fandoms wtf
> 
> ....ok im hours late, after posting this, but - i kept thinkin, and REALLY there are so many amazing writers in the IHNAIMS fandom. i cant Not mention just how awed I am or how, u know, while the majority of this came unprovoked outta my head, there are some various tidbits that got inspired from other ppl. just, ya know, yall are really cool so i wanna mention that. uhhhh super awkward now lmao


End file.
